The Camelot Kids

by Ben Zackheim

  He thought it was his imagination when he heard the sound of flowing water nearby. But as they walked down a long hall, Simon and Hector came to a large indoor waterfall. He couldn’t tell what the source of the water was but it sprang from all four walls of the massive room. The hallway they had been walking on sloped upward, becoming an arching bridge that crossed over a clear pool.

  More remarkably, two trees were embedded into two corners of the stone wall, as if part of the castle. Massive branches crisscrossed the walls, some of which were used by kids as benches. Boys and girls read and talked as the water fell in blankets of white around them.

  “This space is called Tapper. Trainees come here to relax. To get away from me.” Hector winked.

  “I’ve had enough relaxing, thanks,” Simon said, only partly joking.

  “I think we can help you there.”

  Simon didn’t like the smirk on Hector’s face. He was pretty sure he’d seen his first glimpse of Hexter the Trainer.

  They left the castle through a pair of towering doors. The clouds hung so low that Simon felt he could reach them if he’d had the strength to get on his tiptoes. The town below was veiled in fog. Pitched roofs peeked up like rocks in a lake, their chimneys puffing smoke in the chilly air. Hollers and hooves were sure signs that preparations for the fair continued somewhere under that haze.

  Simon and Hector descended the stairs to a large cobblestone square where horses ate from troughs, men heaved crates of food from their wagons, and children played. Twelve sets of stairs led to a dozen towers of varying sizes. But there was no grander stairway than the one straight ahead. The marble slabs spanned from one side of the courtyard to the other and led to the widest pair of doors Simon had ever seen. He was sure this was the tower that he’d first spotted from the mountaintop.

  They walked up the stairs slowly. It was hard for Simon. He was still weak from the hex, and hadn’t moved so much in days. His legs got wobbly so Hector held out his arm for him to grab onto. They entered a long hall with columns running from end to end. Simon noticed an empty throne on the other side of the room. It was set in the center and crafted from oak with no ornamentation. Merlin’s massive form balanced on a chair made of gold, set just to the left of the throne. He leaned back and watched them approach.

  “It’s about time,” Merlin growled. His voice rumbled through the stone hall.

  Hector removed a sword and scabbard from his belt and bowed. Merlin stood, towering over them and holding out his arms. Hector placed the weapon in the wizard’s hands. Merlin pulled it from its sheath.

  Simon couldn’t tell if the old man was impressed, but Simon certainly was. The edge of the blade shone so bright that it left a dark spot in his vision. Merlin slid the blade back into its home and returned it to Hector.

  Then he glared at Simon with the same disapproving and impatient expression he always seemed to wear.

  “So! I trust you opened Lancelot’s door, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

  “Where would I be?”

  “Well, it would have meant you were not who I thought you were and you’d probably be on your way back to that school.”

  Simon was not going to let the old man get to him. “Rukkush told me you put him in there. Why did you send us in if you knew he was waiting?”

  “To see what would happen, of course,” the wizard said, surprised that Simon would bother asking.

  “Maille told me at my uncle’s place that I was in danger. Is Rukkush the guy she warned me about?” Merlin smiled, and then proceeded to ignore the question.

  “Now you begin your training with the other Knights of the Round Table. Hector is the finest swordsman in the kingdom. I gather he likes you, but training you will be a different matter altogether. I trust that you will have a firm grasp of the basics by the end of the month.” Merlin seemed to target the statement at Hector even though he didn’t take his eyes off Simon. Hector bowed his head.

  Simon’s hot head took over. He didn’t like to be told he was going to do something without understanding why he needed to do it.

  “I never said I was going to train,” he said.

  “Then you can leave,” Merlin shot back. “Everyone does their duty here. It’s how we’ve managed to survive for over a thousand years. You will train in the arts of combat. You will do your best. And you will belong. Fail and you will be cast out as many have before you.”

  Simon stewed, but the wizard had won that round. He wasn’t about to go back out to a world that thought he’d murdered his teacher.

  “Now. I brought you here for a reason. Hector?”

  Hector yanked the sword out of its scabbard so quickly that Simon jumped. His new teacher held the blade flat in his palms and presented it to Simon.

  “Go on. It’s from the arsenal in your old bedroom. Take a look,” the wizard said, amused at how nervous Simon was.

  It was the blade he’d admired in Lancelot’s room before he’d been attacked by Rukkush. Without the dust, its silver sheen was so rich that it glowed with a purple tint. The hilt was wrapped in leather, ancient from its appearance. It was only then that he noticed the two men staring at him like they were waiting for the punch line of a joke.

  “So?” the old man asked.

  “So, what?” Simon said.

  “Do you notice anything?”

  “It’s cool.”

  Merlin frowned. “Cool? I’m not asking for a critique of the thing, boy! Does anything stand out?”

  “All right, you don’t have to yell. It’s really… purple.”

  Merlin sighed. “Get him out of here. And make sure he knows the rules. He won’t follow them, but we don’t want to give him an excuse to plead ignorance.”

  “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here, you know.” Hector slipped the sword back in its scabbard and backed away, signaling it was time to leave.

  As they walked back through the castle, Simon listened to a bunch of nonsense about curfews, how boys and girls were in separate quarters for a reason, how strict the schedules were, and how to treat the villagers.

  “It’s the way of a Knight to respect the timid and the strong. Oh, by the way, you can stay in Lancelot’s quarters if you’d prefer,” Hector said.

  “No thanks. I’ll go where everyone else is.” Hector smiled, pleased with the answer. They entered an empty Wellwoven. The swords were all in their slots on the wall but, from what Simon had seen on his exhausting trek back to the sleeping quarters, all the kids were hanging out at the waterfall in Tapper.

  “You’ll start training tomorrow morning in the back courtyard. Head down those stairs outside the door. We’ll fit you for armor so come as you are. Merlin is right. Training is hard. Be prepared.” Hector put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “When you find something familiar, don’t fight it, okay? Relax and try to remember. Remember to remember.”

  Simon nodded politely, but he had no idea what Hector meant.

  “Hector? I thought you worked for my uncle.”

  “I did,” he said while walking to the door. “My charge was to watch out for you and make sure you stayed safe. Once you train, I won’t need to worry any longer.” He winked at Simon and left.

  Then something odd happened. Simon didn’t see it coming. Maybe it was the warmth of the sunlit room, or the grandness of the large, cozy castle. Or it could have been the faint smell of a feast being cooked somewhere nearby. But as Simon took a seat on his bed, he allowed something to rise in him that he’d fought for years.

  Hope.

  He was, indeed, surrounded by myth. How could he deny a desire that this place, this new Camelot, was not only real and true, but it was also exactly where he belonged?

  He liked Josh and Russ and probably even Maille Rose, though that was still to be determined. He could do without Merlin but he’d learn to tolerate the weirdo. And tomorrow he was going to start training to be a knight with Hector. Maybe New Camelot was where Simon would finally get along w
ith his peers. Maybe now he had a chance to be understood. Actually, maybe he’d get to understand himself.

  After a moment, exhaustion swept over him. He lay down and wondered if King Arthur had an heir somewhere. The thought made him sad for some reason. At first, he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was one of the disgusting potions Nurse Deidre kept pouring down his throat. Or maybe it was just that he was so tired.

  Then it hit him.

  “You were right, guys,” he said to no one, hoping his parents heard him, somehow.

  He fell into a black, dreamless sleep, but he didn’t stop crying.

  20

  Someone pounded on Wellwoven’s door. Simon jerked awake from a dead sleep as Maille rushed into the room.

  “Why are you still here? Hector is waiting for you in the courtyard!”

  Simon took a look around. He was the only boy left. He threw his cloak on and ran out the door behind her. Great, his first day of training, and he was late.

  They emerged from the tower into a large courtyard. Dozens of kids lined up in a row, facing Hector, at attention. Boys and girls alike were decked out in light leather armor and armed with spears, swords, and bows. It was an impressive sight, but it fell apart when he rushed to join the line.

  As he took a spot at the end, all the others craned their necks to get a glimpse. In the silence, Simon stood as straight as he could and inched backward a few inches, trying to blend in. But he was late, and everyone thought he was Lancelot’s heir, so blending in was kind of tough.

  “Simon! Forward!” Hector sounded upset. Simon stepped out into plain view of everyone, including the crowd of castle employees gathering around the edges of the training courtyard. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but that didn’t stop people from showing up to watch. One man held a rooster under his arm, which glanced around for the sun, impatiently.

  Hector towered over Simon.

  “We believe in punctuality around here. When we say you should be here in the morning, that means at the crack of dawn, ready to fight. Understood?” The sun broke over the horizon and the rooster crowed at the top of its lungs. The crowd laughed.

  “Sure. Okay,” Simon said.

  “Yes, sir!” Hector barked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now step over there and observe. Maille will bring you some armor.”

  Simon left the line and watched Hector inspect the troops. For a bunch of kids they were actually pretty impressive. Their armor was light and their weapons were small but they were dead serious about keeping their poise. The line they made was so sharp Simon thought he could cut himself on it.

  Maille knelt in front of Simon to lace his boots. “Don’t worry about Hector,” she whispered.

  “It doesn’t bug me. I’m used to adults pulling the intimidation thing.”

  She smiled. “I found a whole bunch about Rukkush in the library. He was telling the truth, as far as I can tell. At least the part about being an apprentice to Merlin. But all the info I found points to him dying in the Battle of Camlann.”

  “That name’s familiar.”

  “That’s where Arthur died. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

  “They tried.”

  “Anyway, he specialized in dark magic. A few records say he even matched Merlin in some ways. Which could explain his banishment, if you ask me. Merlin doesn’t like competition.”

  Simon was trying to pay attention, but he was also nervous about what was going to happen next in training. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “Not me,” Maille said. “Us. Rukkush may have turned to dust, but I think we need to be ready to fight him again. He showed a special interest in you.”

  “I’m not fighting anyone. I don’t know how to fight.”

  “Not yet,” she said with a smile and a wink.

  At Hector’s order, one boy and one girl took positions and drew training swords. What followed was unlike anything Simon had ever seen.

  The two kids’ blows were swift and their footwork reminded him of the martial arts movies he used to watch with his mom on TV. They went at each other with a ferocity and a grace that was beyond their years.

  The girl got herself trapped between her adversary and the line of onlookers. Instead of being pushed back into the crowd, she dodged a swing of the sword by bending forward and rolling through her opponent, knocking him to the ground. The two struck at each other from low positions, the “thonk” of colliding wood echoing through the courtyard.

  Finally, more by chance than anything else, the girl stumbled on her opponent’s foot and fell to the stone ground. The boy put the tip of his blade to the back of her neck. She dropped her weapon. Simon was relieved, since the two were so evenly matched that they could have gone on all day.

  His awe was mixed with a loud voice in his head asking, how am I supposed to match that? He’d played video games before, but his hand-eye coordination ended at the television screen. Sure, he’d done well against Maille with the toys, but she probably wasn’t as talented as she’d claimed. If there was anything on the planet that he wanted to avoid, it was getting called out in front of everyone and ordered to show what he had in his nonexistent arsenal.

  “Simon!” Hector hollered.

  Simon’s stomach dropped. Wonderful, his worst nightmare come true. It felt like getting called out in class. Except a wrong answer here would get you a concussion.

  Simon stood up wearily. He heard some chuckles from the crowd.

  “Silence!” Hector’s voice had an amazing ability to get people to pay attention. Hector handed Simon a training sword.

  “Remember to remember, Simon,” Hector muttered under his breath.

  Something in Simon relaxed at that moment. Maybe it was Hector’s voice. Maybe it was that the training sword’s hilt felt familiar to him. Whatever it was, he reached his spot on the dewy field and faced the kid who had won the last battle. When their eyes met, the calm left him. He felt like Red at the first sign of trouble.

  Simon raised his sword and wondered how he’d ever live down the humiliation in front of all these people.

  The boy stepped toward Simon with a wide swing of his weapon. Simon blocked it without thinking. But he was so shocked at his success that he didn’t pay attention to the follow-up blow. It hit him square in the jaw.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d been knocked out. He didn’t know where he was for a second. He heard some laughter and the faint voice of Hector calling his name. When he sat up Hector held Simon’s bleeding chin in his hands. The other boy was smirking. Simon got angry. He wanted a second chance.

  “Stand,” Hector said. Simon found the strength to get to his feet.

  Hector put both hands on Simon’s shoulders. “Relax,” he whispered. “None of this has made sense since you first arrived, so believe me when I tell you, you know how to do this. You’ll need to practice, but yer worst is this boy’s best. Remember.” But what Hector said was fundamentally wrong. Simon couldn’t be better than this guy, who had practiced for so long. He always worked hard at what he did. He hated kids who didn’t even try, as if everything should come easily to them. How could he be good at something without experience?

  Hector saw the doubt in his face. “Some people are born with better eyesight, or the ability to hold their breath a little longer than someone else. This is no different.” Simon looked up at him, trying to believe. “It’s no different,” Hector repeated.

  Then Hector stepped back and revealed Simon’s opponent, still smirking. He was exactly like any other bully Simon had ever known. His expression was judgmental, it was presumptuous, and it was arrogant.

  Simon lifted his sword.

  For the second time, he blocked a blow without thinking. But instead of being impressed with himself, he lunged and pulled the blade upward, barely missing the kid’s chin. His opponent hesitated and Simon took full advantage. Simon stepped forward and shoved the guy toward the line of trainees. His opponent did a little dance to keep his
balance, but it didn’t work. He stumbled into the trainees, who moved aside to give their friend some room to stand up and recover.

  He’s trying to avoid hitting his buddies.

  Simon decided to be less careful.

  Simon rushed at him and forced his target to defend himself. They wove through the line of students, with Simon swinging and stabbing from whatever direction he wanted. His opponent was too concerned about hitting his friends to counter attack.

  Near the end of the line, Simon saw one last chance to end the fight quickly. He was so tired he was seeing spots float across his vision. If they found themselves in the open field again, he knew he would lose.

  He grabbed a bystander by the shoulders.

  “Sorry,” he said to a very surprised Josh.

  Then he threw his new friend into his opponent, knocking them both to the ground. Simon pushed his blade into the once-smirking face.

  “Enough!” Hector bellowed.

  Simon came out of his trance. His heart was pounding, he was sweating, and his ears were filled with the sound of pumping blood. He stumbled back a few steps and leaned on his sword to keep his composure. He was exhausted. Whatever he’d done, it was everything he had.

  And he’d won! Simon had actually beaten the guy who had impressed him mere moments before. He glanced around for praise from his new peers, but most of them scowled.

  “He cheated!” one girl hollered.

  “You can’t do that!” said a boy at the end of the line, pointing at Simon with the tip of his sword.

  They hollered about how unfair Simon’s tactics were and how he’d broken the rules. None of them would lock eyes with him. As he glanced up and down the line, it was as if he weren’t even there. Except for Josh, Russ and Maille, all he could see were enemies. A number of bystanders also threw out some boos and hisses.

  Maybe he hadn’t won after all.

  “Follow me, Simon,” Hector said. Now he was in for it. He’d broken whatever rules no one had told him about, and now even Hector thought he was a creep.